Читать книгу Maybe This Christmas…? - Алисон Робертс - Страница 7

THANK heavens there was a sick baby to assess.

It was another blessing that Andy had had plenty of practice in using a professional mode to override personal pain. This might be the best test yet, mind you.

Gemma’s baby?

She had found someone to take his place in her life and she’d had his baby? A baby he now had cradled in his own arms as he led the way from the waiting room into the business area of the emergency department. Gemma was a good few steps behind him. He hadn’t waited quite long enough for her to scoop up the youngest girl and send the oldest one to fetch the boy called Jamie from the playpen.

Jamie?

Something was struggling to escape from the part of his brain he was overriding but Andy didn’t dare release the circuit breaker he’d had to slam on within seconds of walking into that waiting room.

That first glimpse of Gemma had hit him like an emotional sledgehammer. The power of that initial, soul-deep response had had the potential to destroy him utterly if he hadn’t been able to shut it down fast. Fortunately, some automatic survival instinct had kicked in and extinguished that blinding glow. Shutting off his emotional response had left him with a lens focused on physical attributes and… astonishingly, it could have been yesterday that he’d last seen her.

OK, her hair was longer. Those luxuriant brown waves had barely touched her shoulders back then and they were in a loose plait that hung down to the middle of her back now. Same colour, though, and even in the artificial glare of the neon strip lighting in here it was alive with sparks of russet and deep gold. She’d filled out a little, too, but that only made her look more like the woman he’d fallen in love with instead of the pale shadow that had slipped out of his life four years ago.

How much worse was it going to be when he was close enough to see her eyes? Nobody else in the world had Gemma’s eyes. They might share that glowing hazel shade but he’d never seen anyone with the unusual gold rims around the irises and the matching chips in their depths.

So far, by concentrating on the small people around her, Andy had managed to avoid more than a grazing glance. He was still avoiding direct eye contact as he walked briskly ahead of her.

He was getting close to the triage desk now and Julia was watching his approach. Or rather she was staring at the small train of followers he knew he had. Gemma must look like the old woman from the shoe, he thought grimly. So many children she didn’t know what to do.

The irony would be unbearable if he let himself go there.

‘Space?’ he queried crisply. ‘Query meningitis here.’

‘Um…’ Julia gave her head a tiny shake and turned it to glance over her shoulder at the board. ‘Resus One’s just been cleared… but—’

‘Thanks.’ Andy didn’t give her time to say that it probably needed to be kept clear for a more urgent case. The privacy and space of one of the larger areas would be ideal to contain this unacceptably large group. It wasn’t until he led them all into the space he realised that isolating himself from the hubbub of the cubicles would only intensify the undercurrents happening here but, by then, it was too late.

A nurse had just finished smoothing a clean sheet onto the bed. Andy laid the baby down gently. Her wails had diminished as he’d carried her here but the volume got turned up as he put her down and she was rubbing her eyes with small, tight fists. Was the light hurting her? Andy angled the lamp away.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked. It was quite easy to ask the question without looking directly at Gemma. Right now she was just another parent of a sick child.

‘Fever, irritability, refusing food.’ Gemma’s voice was strained. ‘She vomited once and her cry sounded…’ her voice wavered ‘… kind of high-pitched.’

Andy focused on the baby. He slid one hand behind her head. Lifting it gently, he was relieved to see her neck flex. If this was a case of meningitis, it was at an early stage but he could feel the heat from the skin beneath wisps of golden hair darkened by perspiration.

‘Let’s get her undressed,’ he told the nurse. ‘I’d like some baseline vital signs, too, thanks.’

Hard to assess a rate of breathing when a baby was this distressed, of course. And the bulging fontanelle could be the result of the effort of crying rather than anything more sinister. Andy straightened for a moment, frowning, as he tried to take in an overall impression.

It didn’t help that there were so many other children in here. The small girl in Gemma’s arms was still whimpering and the older boy was whining.

‘But why can’t I go and play with the toys?’

‘Shh, Jamie.’ The older girl gave him a shove. ‘Sophie’s sick. She might be going to die.’

Andy’s eyebrows reversed direction and shot up. The matter-of-fact tone of the child was shocking. He heard Gemma gasp and it was impossible to prevent his gaze going straight to her face.

She was looking straight back at him.

He could see a mirror of his own shock at Sophie’s statement. And see a flash of despair in Gemma’s eyes.

And he could see something else. A plea? No, it was more like an entire library of unspoken words. Instant understanding and… trust that what was known wouldn’t be used for harm.

And there was that glow again, dammit. Rays of intense light and warmth seeping out from the mental lid he’d slammed over the hole in his heart. Andy struggled to push the lid more firmly into place. To find something to screw it down with.

She’s moved on, a small voice reminded Andy. She’s got children. Another man’s children.

It was Gemma who dragged her gaze clear.

‘She’s not going to die, Hazel.’ But was there an edge of desperation in Gemma’s voice?

‘She’s here so that we can look after her,’ Andy added in his most reassuring adult-to-child tone. ‘And make sure that she doesn’t…’ The stare he was receiving from Jamie was disconcerting. ‘That nothing bad happens.’

The nurse was pulling Sophie’s arms from the sleeves of a soft, hand-knitted cardigan. Sophie was not co-operating. She was flexing her arms tightly and kicking out with her feet. Nothing floppy about her, Andy thought. It was a good sign that she was so upset. It wouldn’t be much fun for anybody if a lumbar puncture was needed to confirm the possibility of meningitis, though. He certainly wouldn’t be doing a procedure like that with an audience of young children, especially when one of them was calmly expecting a catastrophe.

Hazel was giving him a stare as direct as Jamie’s had been. She looked far older than her years and there was something familiar about that serious scrutiny. The penny finally dropped.

Hazel? Jamie? There was no way he could ignore the pull into the forbidden area now. Not that he was going to raise that lid, even a millimetre, but he could tread—carefully—around its perimeter. Andy directed a cautious glance at Gemma.

‘These are your sister’s children? Laura and Evan’s kids?’

He didn’t need to see her nodding. Of course they were. Four years was a long time in a child’s life. The last time he’d seen Hazel she’d been a three-year-old. James had been a baby not much older than Sophie and… and Laura had been pregnant with twins, hadn’t she?

The nurse had succeeded in undressing Sophie now, removing sheepskin bootees and peeling away the soft stretchy suit to leave her in just a singlet and nappy. Sophie was still protesting the procedure and she was starting to sound exhausted on top of being so unhappy. Gemma stepped closer. She tried to reach out a hand to touch the baby but the child she was holding wrapped her arms more tightly around her neck.

‘No-o-o… Don’t put me down, Aunty Gemma.’

Hazel was peering under the bed. ‘You come out of there, Ben. Right now.’

‘And Sophie?’ Andy couldn’t stem a wash of relief so strong it made his chest feel too tight to take a new breath. ‘She’s Laura’s baby?’

‘She was.’ Gemma managed to secure her burden with one arm and touch Sophie’s head with her other hand. She looked up at Andy. ‘She’s mine now. They all are.’

Andy said nothing. He knew his question was written all over his face.

‘They were bringing Sophie home from the hospital,’ Gemma said quietly. ‘There was a head-on collision with a truck at the intersection where their lane joins the main road. A car came out of the lane without giving way and Evan swerved and that put them over the centre line. They… they both died at the scene.’ She pressed her lips together hard and squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat.

‘Oh, my God,’ Andy breathed. Laura had been his sister-in-law. Bright and bubbly and so full of life. Gemma had been more than a big sister to her. She had been her mother as well. The news must have been unbelievably devastating. ‘Gemma… I’m so sorry.’

Gemma opened her eyes again, avoiding his gaze. Because accepting sympathy might undo her in front of the children? Her voice was stronger. Artificially bright. ‘Luckily the car seat saved Sophie from any injury.’

‘And you were here in Manchester?’ Andy still couldn’t get his head around it. How long had she been here and why hadn’t he known anything about it? It felt… wrong.

‘No. I was in Sydney. Australia.’

Of course she had been. In the place she’d taken off to four years ago. The point on the globe where she could be as far as possible away from him. Andy could feel his own lips tightening. Could feel himself stepping back from that dangerous, personal ground.

‘But you came back. To look after the kids.’

‘Of course.’

Two tiny words that said so much. Andy knew exactly why Gemma had come back. But the simple statement prised open a completely separate can of worms at the same time. She could abandon her career and traverse the globe to care for children for her sister’s sake?

She hadn’t been able to do even half of that for him, had she?

There was anger trapped amongst the pain and grief in that no-go area. Plenty of it. Especially now that he had successfully extinguished that glow. He turned back to his patient.

‘Let’s get her singlet off as well. I want to check for any sign of a rash.’

Gemma wasn’t sure who she felt the most sorry for.

Sophie? A tiny baby who was not only feeling sick but had to be frightened by the bright lights and strange environment and unfamiliar people pulling her clothes off and poking at her.

Hazel? A child who was disturbingly solemn these days. It was scary the way she seemed to be braced for fate to wipe another member of her family from the face of the earth.

The twins, who were so tired they didn’t know what to do with themselves?

Herself?

Oh, yes… it would be all too easy to make it about herself at this particular moment.

Not because she was half out of her mind with worry. Or that her arms were beginning to ache unbearably from holding the heavy weight of three-year-old Chloe who was slumped and almost asleep, with her head buried against Gemma’s shoulder, but still making sad, whimpering sounds.

No. The real pain was coming from watching Andy. Seeing the changes that four years had etched into his face. The fine lines that had deepened around his eyes. The flecks of silver amongst the warm brown hair at his temples. The five-o’clock shadow that looked… coarser than she remembered.

Or maybe it wasn’t the changes that were making her feel like this. Maybe it was the things that hadn’t changed that were squeezing her heart until it ached harder than her arms.

That crease of genuine concern between his eyebrows. The confident but gentle movements of his hands as they touched the baby, seeking answers to so many questions. The way she could almost see his mind working with that absolute thoroughness and speed and intelligence she knew he possessed.

‘She’s got a bit of a rash on her trunk but that could be a heat rash from running a fever. This could be petechiae around her eyes, though.’ Andy was bent over the baby, cupping her head reassuringly with one hand, using a single finger of his other hand to press an area close to her eyes, checking to see if the tiny spots would vanish with pressure. He glanced up at Gemma. ‘Has she been vomiting at all?’

‘Just the once. After a feed. She refused her bottle after that.’

Andy’s nod was thoughtful. ‘Could have been enough to push her venous pressure up and cause these.’ But he was frowning. ‘We’ll have to keep an eye on them.’

He took his stethoscope out to listen to the tiny chest but paused for a moment when Sophie stretched out her hand. He gave her a finger to clutch. Gemma watched those tiny starfish fingers curl around Andy’s finger and she could actually feel how warm and strong it must seem. Something curled inside her at the same time. The memory of what it was like to touch Andy? To feel his strength and his warmth and the steady, comforting beat of his heart?

It was so, so easy to remember how much she had loved this man.

How much she still loved him.

That’s why you set him free, her mind whispered. You have no claim on him any more. He wouldn’t want you to have one.

His voice was soft enough to bring a lump to her throat.

‘It’s all right, chicken,’ he told Sophie. ‘You’ll get a proper cuddle soon, I promise.’

He might well give her that cuddle himself, Gemma thought, and the fresh shaft of misery told her exactly who it was that she felt most sorry for here.

Andy.

No wonder she had felt that edge of anger when she’d told him she’d come rushing back from Australia to step into the terrible gap left by her sister’s death.

Andy had been the one who’d wanted a big family. For Gemma it had come well down the list of any priorities. A list that had always been headed by her determination to achieve a stellar career.

The irony of what she was throwing in his face tonight was undeserved. Cruel, even.

Andy was the one with the stellar career now. The grapevine that existed in the medical world easily extended as far as Australia and she’d heard about his growing reputation as a leader in his field.

And her career?

Snuffed out. For the last six months and for as far as she could see into the future, she would be a stay-at-home mum.

To a ridiculous number of children. The big family Andy had always wanted and she had refused to consider. In those days, she hadn’t even wanted one child, had she?

Sophie’s exhausted cries had settled into the occasional miserable hiccup as Andy completed his initial examination, which included peering into her ears with an otoscope.

‘I don’t think it’s meningitis,’ he told Gemma finally.

‘Oh… thank God for that.’ The tight knot in Gemma’s stomach eased just a little, knowing that Sophie might not have to go through an invasive procedure like a lumbar puncture.

Andy could see the relief in Gemma’s eyes but he couldn’t smile at her. He knew she wasn’t going to be happy with what he was about to say.

‘I’m going to take some bloods.’

Sure enough, the fear was there again. Enough to show Andy that Gemma was totally committed to this family of orphans. Their welfare was her welfare.

‘Her right eardrum is pretty inflamed,’ he continued, ‘and otitis media could well be enough to explain her symptoms but I’m concerned about that rash. We’ve had a local outbreak of measles recently and one or two of those children have had some unpleasant complications.’

Gemma was listening carefully. So was Hazel.

‘Kirsty’s got measles,’ she said.

‘Who’s Kirsty?’ Andy’s voice was deceptively calm. ‘A friend of yours?’

Hazel nodded. ‘She comes to play at my house sometimes.’

Andy’s glance held Gemma. ‘Have the other children been vaccinated?’

‘I… don’t know, sorry.’

‘We can find out. But not tonight, obviously.’ Andy straightened. He could see the nurse preparing a tray for taking blood samples from Sophie but it wasn’t something he wanted the other children to watch. He’d ask Gemma to take them all into the relatives’ room for a few minutes.

She could take them all home. Even Sophie. He could issue instructions to keep them quarantined at home until the results came in and that way he’d be doing his duty in not risking the spread of a potentially dangerous illness. Gemma was more than capable of watching for any signs of deterioration in the baby’s condition but… if he sent them home, would he see any of them again?

Did he want to?

Andy didn’t know the answer to that so he wasn’t willing to take the risk of losing what little control he had over the situation. And even the possibility of a potentially serious illness like measles made it perfectly justifiable to keep Sophie here until they were confident of the diagnosis.

To keep them all here, for that matter.

Quarantined, in fact.

‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ he excused himself. ‘I’ve got a phone call I need to make.’

Thirty minutes later, Gemma found herself in a single room at the end of the paediatric ward. Already containing two single beds and armchairs suitable for parents to crash in, the staff had squeezed in two extra cots and a bassinette.

‘Just for a while,’ Andy told her. ‘Until we get the results back on those blood tests and we can rule out measles.’

Sophie was sound asleep in the bassinette with a dose of paracetamol and antibiotics on board. The twins were eyeing the cots dubiously. Jamie and Hazel were eyeing the hospital-issue pyjamas a nurse had provided.

‘I want to go home,’ Hazel whispered sadly.

‘I know, hon, but we can’t. Not yet.’

‘But it’s Christmas Eve.’

Gemma couldn’t say anything. The true irony of this situation was pressing down on her. An unbearable weight that made it impossible to look directly at Andy.

She heard him clear his throat. An uncomfortable sound.

‘Will you be all right getting the kids settled? I… have a patient in the PICU I really need to follow up on.’

‘Of course. Thanks for all your help.’

‘I’ll come back later.’

Gemma said nothing. She couldn’t because the lump in her throat was too huge.

It was Christmas Eve and Andy was going to the paediatric intensive care unit.

The place it had all begun, ten years ago.